Sonnet 18
by Phoenix Tears Type 6
Summary: Next update delayed due to this site's server issues ... Harry saves Riddle's life at the end of CoS and tells no one about it. The young horcrux and the boy-who-lived make a deal... the secrets of the Dark Lord in exchange for a new body.
1. Rough Winds of May

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from the series by J.K. Rowling.I also don't own the brief excerpt from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, directly quoted from the book. If you sue me, all I have is sock flint.

**_Author Note:_**

This is a brief one – the longer will be at the bottom. This is a **REDO** of my early version called Tom Riddle Lives. This is going to go in a COMPLETELY different direction than my original fic, so I'm leaving the first one up for those who enjoyed it. It's still going to be OOC, but I'm hoping that in this revamp, there will be evident improvement in the plot and presentation. Being a Lit Major, I will warn you that nothing I mention is accidental. If something seems irrelevant now, I promise that it will come to mean something sooner or later. Enjoy!

* * *

**_Sonnet 18_**

_**Rough Winds Do Shake the Darling Buds of May**_

_I hate you._

Rolling his eyes, Harry slammed shut the battered diary that lie open upon his bed. If Riddle wanted to be moody, he could be moody by himself – Harry had enough to worry about, what with going back to the Dursley's tomorrow and everything. Looking over the edge of his bed, where his trunk stood readily packed, he mentally double-checked that he would be able to wake-up, stuff himself at breakfast, then go without fear of leaving anything behind. Though there was one thing he wouldn't mind leaving…

_I hate you_. The diary had flipped itself back open, presenting page 35, near the middle. Riddle's usually precise handwriting, slanted slightly to the right and curling with artistic flare, was sloppy and jagged – his tantrum coming through his writing. Of course, Harry could understand why Riddle would have cause for being upset. Honestly, he wouldn't much like being trapped in a banged up old book by himself either.

"I could have let you die, you know," Harry muttered at the book, while drawing the curtains around his bed. "I didn't _have_ to save you."

Riddle didn't answer. By now, Harry knew that Tom could hear him through the pages… that writing wasn't necessary to communicate with the young Dark Lord. Not that Harry was foolish enough to try a quill – after learning how Ginny had come to be possessed, he certainly wasn't going to risk the same fate, brought on by sheer stupidity. Hermione would be fairly proud.

Sighing, Harry firmly closed the diary again, using an old sock to bind it shut. Tucking it under his pillow, where the weight of his head could hold it down if need be, he warily laid down to rest for his last night in Hogwarts as a second year. "'Night Tom," he muttered, half to spite and half to soothe to seething disembodied youth.

"Mwa?" Ron's sleepy mutter came from beyond the red curtains, obviously already half asleep.

"I said, 'Goodnight Ron,'" Harry lied, listening for his friend's accepting murmur, followed by steady snoring. It was a small lie, but Harry found himself wondering how many of these lies he would have to tell in order to protect what should likely be destroyed.

--

* * *

--

He raised his wand-

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - the diary.

For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the Basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and then-

Green eyes met green eyes.

As Riddle thrashed and screamed, Harry was again struck by the similarities that existed between them – how their eyes were the exact shade of green… how Riddle's hair was a much neater version of Harry's own locks. Inexplicably, Harry thought about what it must have been like for the older teen, trapped between the musty pages of an old diary – waiting for _someone_ to come along and set him free. Then, when Ginny Weasley had finally done so, what did it matter that she was only a silly young girl? What chance would Riddle have again to finally be alive… to not merely exist? Though Harry knew that he would never accept murder as the proper means for anything, he felt that he could truly understand his foe. It was all there in those eyes…

Harry didn't know what compelled him to do what he did. Numbly, as if working from behind an invisible barrier, he wrenched the basilisk fang from the diary while ripping off a piece of his shirt to stem the flow of ink. Vaguely, it reminded him of staunching a bleeding wound. Fawkes, somehow understanding the intentions of the-boy-who-lived, swooped low to the chamber floor – his talons still glinting with fresh basilisk blood.

Riddle was still screaming, clenching his eyes shut tightly from the pain. Harry was surprised, for he could barely hear the cries of the fading youth, for the weaker that Riddle's image became, the further away his voice seemed to travel – as though he were at the bottom of a very deep well and drowning while trying to speak. He took no notice of Fawkes when the phoenix hovered over his form, craning his neck so that the pearly tears fell into his opened, gasping mouth. Neither did Harry, who was occupied with holding the diary in place – it had begun to shake violently, as if on the verge of tearing itself apart.

Gradually, the diary ceased to move and the ink stopped flowing. Removing the cloth scrap, Harry prodded at the gaping hole uncertainly, frowning when there was no reaction. Cautiously looking across the floor, he saw Riddle's form – solid again – unmoving amidst the slime and dirt that made up the Chamber's floor. Barely noticeable, the head boy's chest rose and fell evenly, signaling that he was still alive.

A terrible thought then came to Harry. "Ginny!" he exclaimed, forcing his weary legs to support him as he ran to his best friend's sister. Falling to his knees at her side, he carefully placed his fingers at her pulse point, sighing in relief when he felt a steady beat. Convinced that she would be fine, he carefully moved closer to Riddle, whose screams still echoed in the back of Harry's mind.

The young Dark Lord looked deceivingly innocent in this comatose state. His face was quite handsome when not contorted into a sneer or grimace – there was a deceivingly angelic quality to his features that spoke of youth and innocence. Scoffing, Harry shook his head at his own thoughts. What was most important was finding a way to carry both Riddle and Ginny out of the Chamber of Secrets, lest any other creatures be lurking in the dark.

On its own accord, the diary slipped from between Harry's fingers and flipped open to a page in the back that the fang had not ruined. A white light emanated from the spine, encircling Riddle's prone form before retreating back into the diary – taking Riddle with it. For the briefest of moments, Harry felt sorry for the thwarted young man before reminding himself that there was someone else that needed looking after. Gathering Ginny in his arms, and plopping the Sorting Hat on his head, he held tight to Fawkes' tail while readying a story in his mind.

* * *

"And you're sure, Harry?" Dumbledore prodded for the umpteenth time. "That is everything that you can recall happening in the chamber?" The headmaster's gaze was intent as he stared into Harry's eyes.

Harry had managed to tell the truth - for the most part. When he reached the part of his tale after having stabbed the diary with the basilisk fang, he had taken a creative liscence to the conclusion. It had been difficult to tell Dumbledore that he had watched Riddle die, when Harry knew full well that the youth was alive and healed within his prison of a diary. If Riddle was indeed awake or aware, he smartly remained quiet as Dumbledore examined the stab holes in the leather front, apparently believing them to be proof of Riddle's ruin.

From his seat across the desk, Harry forced himself not to squirm when Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be looking for something more within his tale. "Yes, sir," he confirmed quietly. "Fawkes took us all back and that was the end of it. Well… maybe not the _end _since Malfoy-"

Chuckling, Dumbledore nodded while popping another lemon drop into his mouth. "Quite, quite… and I'm sure that you will have a good and faithful friend in Dobby." Leaning forward, the old wizard's face became serious again. "Just remember, my dear boy, that old saying – 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.'" Satisfied, Dumbledore beamed again, his eyes twinkling merrily. "For now, I'm sure that you are more interested in the state of your friends. Miss Granger is most eager to see you in the Hospital Wing."

Smiling in gratitude, Harry took the dismissal for what it was and bid the Headmaster a goodnight. On the way out of the office, he could not help but to clutch the diary in his pocket, as if Dumbledore would come after him and demand that he hand it over. It had been tricky to get it back from the wise wizard, who had been intent on inspecting it. When the opportunity for Dobby's freedom had arisen, Dumbledore had had no qualms about allowing Harry to use the diary as a means of achieving that liberty. Now that it was done and Harry had no reason for holding onto the cursed book… well… he hoped that Dumbledore would be too concerned about what had taken place in his school to recall that the diary was suspiciously missing.

--

* * *

--

Tom – Harry refused to keep calling him Riddle – had said or written nothing before the time had come to leave Hogwarts. When Harry had removed the binding sock that morning, he had half expected for the cover to fly open so that Tom could spell out all of the foul things that he doubtlessly wanted to shout aloud. To Harry's surprise, the diary had remained innocently closed and quiet. Even stranger was that he couldn't manually open it – no amount of pulling or prying could make the edges of the binding separate. That was fine by Harry, though… if Tom wanted to act like a sulky child, he could. Not that Harry pretended to understand what Tom Marvolo Riddle was up to in there. For all he knew, the youth was plotting a way to possess him so that he could carry out his dastardly deeds through Harry. The last thought made Harry snort into his butterbeer – who used the word 'dastardly' anymore? – earning sharp glances from his friends seated on the other side of the compartment.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron queried while stuffing Scabbers with Bertie Botts.

"Fine," Harry assured lightly while wiping Butterbeer off of his nose.

"You do realize that you're supposed to drink it – not inhale it," Hermione said crossly while hunching over her book. She had mentioned something about having a full schedule for third year, when they got on the train, and was already reading up on some of her subjects.

"I didn't, but thank you," Harry teased, knowing that she was too submerged in her text to hear anyway. He was about ask Ron if it was healthy to give a rat so much sugar when he felt a burning sensation over his chest. Actually – not so much a burning as it was warm… almost as though he had taken a piece of fresh toast and stuffed it down his shirt... not that he would admit to having experienced that at any point in time. Feeling the inner pocket of his robe, he could trace the outline of the diary – the source of the heat. "Well, that's too bad," he murmured under his breath, crossing his arms over the concealed bump. "You could have said something this morning – now you'll have to wait until we get to the Dursley's." Wrinkling his nose, he felt his spirits plummet at the thought of going back to his relative's house again. Seeing as he had broken out, with Ron's aid, the summer before, he doubted that he was in for a warm reception.

"You sure you can't just stay with me, Harry?" Ron was watching him carefully, watching his facial expressions.

"That obvious, huh?" Harry asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

"You get this look," Ron explained, gesturing with his hands, "like you just ate a big bite of flobber worms mixed with dung topped off with Snape's hair." Blanching for a moment, he made a gagging sound. "Great… now _I_ feel sick too."

"With a description like that, it's no wonder," Hermione chastised without looking up. "How you manage to come up with such things..."

Rolling his eyes in a long suffering gesture, Ron chose to ignore her for the moment. "Anyhow, it's your Dursley look. You don't do it anytime else."

"I never paid attention," Harry said offhandedly. "Dumbledore's orders though… I have to go back. Otherwise, I'd love to stay at the Burrow."

Brightening, Ron shoved a handful of Bertie Botts into his own mouth. "Weawy?" he asked in a muffled voice as he chewed. "Ah wos 'fwaid ew'd tink eh wos oo smel."

"'Course not," Harry reassured, grinning at Hermione's disgusted grimace. "It's not small at all – I think it's brilliant."

Appeased, Ron unwrapped a chocolate frog before thinking better of it after chewing a disagreeable Bertie Bott. "I'll still write, of course," he promised, "especially since there shouldn't be any house elves getting in the way."

Smiling, Hermione hummed in agreement. "That was a wonderful thing you did for Dobby, Harry…it makes me wonder if there are other house elves-"

"Fifteen minutes!" the trolley witch's voice shouted down the aisle. "Fifteen minutes until King's Cross Station, London!" Lumbering past the compartments while pushing her cart, she repeated the announcement while Ron's eyes wistfully followed the pastries that had not yet been claimed.

"I wonder if those just get thrown out in the end… it would be a pity to waste them," he lamented while cleaning up his mess. Hermione was reluctantly packing her books, carefully placing them so that nothing would mar the covers or pages.

Harry made no comment, more concerned about changing out of his robes without revealing the diary to his friends. He knew that he should tell them… that _someone_ should know that Tom was still alive, in case something happened over the summer. He knew, though, that Ron would insist on his telling Dumbledore and only after he tried to destroy Riddle's remains himself – it had, after all, nearly cost Ginny her life. Hermione would only lecture him about how dangerous such an artifact was and how it would be best for everyone if it was put away somewhere where it could do no harm. That's how Harry justified keeping it a secret for himself. He already knew what the others would say, so… there wasn't really a point to showing it to them.

He still didn't really know why he was carrying it around with him – why he didn't just do his good deed, then turn the thing over to Dumbledore. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should have done that right from the off… but there was this feeling that insisted that _something_ important would come of his keeping Tom close by. Even if Harry couldn't explain it, after two years of surviving Hogwarts, he knew better than to question his instincts.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into platform 9 and ¾'s, Harry wistfully watched Ron and Ginny's family reunion – the latter blushing furiously every time she looked over at her 'savior.' Hermione's parents looked about with an air of delight, obviously tickled at the notion of a secret platform being hidden in the middle of a muggle train station. Leaving his friends to their loved ones, he heaved his trunk onto a trolley and fetched Hedwig's cage before working his way to the front of the station.

The Dursley's were nowhere to be found. That wasn't very surprising… Uncle Vernon was probably pacing back and forth between the car and the front door of the house, debating on whether it was worth it to pick up his wayward nephew. The same thing had happened when Harry had come home from first year, so he knew that it would probably be early evening by the time his relatives chose to find him – and Kings Cross was a dodgy place around that time of night.

Ignoring the odd looks he received, he left the trolley at the front of the station – he wasn't a thief, after all – and dragged his trunk along as he worked his way toward Euston Street. There was a pub not too far off that Uncle Vernon tended to favor, when visiting London – doubtlessly the first place he would go before looking for Harry. Fitzroy Tavern, on Fitzroy Street, was a clean, well lit place… at least he could sit down to a nice bowl of cottage pie while he waited for summer to begin.

* * *

_Shouldn't you be in bed?_ Tom's writing was tidy again, setting Harry on edge. If Riddle was going to try something in public…

"I'm only four years younger than you," Harry reminded the diary, lowly. Once he had claimed a booth, the book had started to act up from where he had shoved it down his pants pocket. A group of girls had twittered hysterically, making Harry blush furiously while wrestling to extract the cursed object. He had unceremoniously plopped the diary on the table top, where it promptly opened itself up.

_A technicality… besides, I wouldn't want the precious boy-who-lived to be deprived of his sleep._

"It's only six," Harry snapped, glancing around for any sign of his uncle. "Besides, you said that you hate me… so go back to the silent treatment."

The journal remained blank for a few moments. Tom made no response to Harry's statement, nor did write one of his own. _Endsleigh_ was the only word the appeared briefly across the page before sinking back into the parchment. Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Harry wondered what in the world that could possibly mean before he saw a rather large form making its way to the bar. Inwardly sighing, he slammed the book shut before resolutely approaching his uncle.

* * *

Fingers carded through Harry's messy hair, drawing a contented sigh from his lips. It felt nice to wake-up this way, with a hand gently messaging his scalp. Tilting his head back a little, he enjoyed the petting as consciousness came on slowly. Aunt Petunia had never woken him so gently before.

_Aunt Petunia _wouldn't_ ever be this nice_, he thought wryly. When the reality of the thought took hold in his mind, Harry felt his muscles tense as panic spiked through him. _Someone_ was standing behind his bed, watching him sleep, touching him while he was vulnerable. Slowly, as though reluctant to do so, the hand slip back and away, returning to its owner. Bracing himself, Harry clutched tightly the wand beneath his pillow and flipped himself over to face -

No one.

Casting a suspicious glance at Riddle's bound diary, he ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair and resolved to convince himself that it had only been the last vestiges of a dream.

* * *

**_Author Notes:_**

Obviously, this is the fic that won the poll! To Cry as a Phoenix will be the next to undergo extensive reconstruction… very exciting. For any additional information about this fic or others, visit my **profile,** where each fic will have its own info section.

I have to warn anyone reading this that I am seriously ill. I'm not going to die, and I'm able to function well enough, but I cannot promise specific dates for when an update will occur since I never know when my illness will get in the way. I will _try _to have something ready once a week. Try.

I'm also a full time college student and intern, so I'll do my best to balance fiction with school. I'll post a notice when I have something major coming up that will slow down my updates. The speed of my updates is directly related to the interest I see via reviews or e-mails – otherwise, I'll work on my original plots. Try to refrain from flaming, though I do love constructive criticism. In all honesty, I'm going to have to work to keep motivated for this since this isn't what I'm primarily drawn to write. So… help me rekindle the flame!

I will be updating all of the fics that I have posted and I think you all will be surprised to see what I have in store. Please don't be shy to check me out on Facebook or to e-mail me!


	2. Summer's Lease

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from the series by J.K. Rowling. I also own no cleaning product companies, though I am proud to say that I manage to use what they produce (here and there).

* * *

**_Sonnet 18_**

**_Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date_**

"Mind the gap. Mind the gap. Mind the gap."

"Mind your own gap," Harry muttered at the automated voice while stepping carefully from the tube. It had been annoyingly difficult to sneak off to London. He knew that Dumbledore would disapprove of his going off on his own – that Ron and Hermione would say that he had gone barmy. For whatever reason, though, Riddle had been adamant in their brief exchanges over the past two weeks. _Endsleigh_, he had written over and over again… mixed in with a few unflattering insults, of course, and the reiteration of his hatred for Harry.

The strange petting incident had not repeated itself since Harry's first morning back at the Dursley's. Naturally, he had confronted Tom about it, knowing full well that it had to be the youth's attempt to unsettle him – perhaps an attempt to possess him. With as much indignity as a journal could express, Tom had remained shut up tight within the pages for the rest of the day, refusing to write any sort of response to Harry's prodding. The silent treatment only managed to last for a day, after which Tom reminded Harry that he was a _sodding brat_, followed by '_Endsleigh_.' When Tom refused to elaborate beyond that word, Harry had finally decided to look up Endsleigh for himself.

"You know, you didn't mention the whole name," he chided, lowly, while carrying the diary toward the tube stairway. "You forgot the 'Court' tacked on at the end." A small shudder – perhaps of annoyance – went through the bound pages, which gave Harry a small bit of satisfaction. Ever since he had announced to Tom that he would look for this Endsleigh, he had the distinct impression of smug satisfaction from the older wizard. Why Tom felt the need to be so insistent over this particular location, Harry couldn't tell… it could easily be a trap. As a precaution, he made sure to bring some Lemon Pledge with him, just in case – a few squirts would do a lovely bit of damage to Tom's already sad looking diary, possibly finishing him off in his weakened form. Tom, of course, had been incredulous over a cleaning product's ability to destroy the most powerful Dark Lord ever to exist, but Harry was confident – thanks to years of experience in cleaning the Dursley's house – that it would do the job just as well as a basilisk fang.

Feeling a bit like a tourist, Harry studied the map of London that he stole from Uncle Vernon's glove compartment. The tube had dumped him next to King's Cross, which wasn't all that far from Endsleigh Court Road. There didn't seem to be anything of interest in that area – nothing that the map showed, at any rate. Shrugging, Harry resolutely made his way toward the designated street, trying to ignore the prickling sensation along the back of his neck. Unaccountably paranoid, he wrapped one hand firmly around his concealed wand.

When he managed to find the correct street – after chasing down an old lady for directions, being sent the wrong way, then confessing to a businessman that he was horrible with maps and needed a pointer – he could only frown in confusion. It seemed to be a residential street, with apartment buildings and the occasional _Pret a Manger_ sandwich shops. Opening the diary, he waited for Tom to be of some use. _Go right, past St. Mungo's_. Nothing more. Obeying warily, Harry eyed the shabby looking homeless shelter as he walked past, wondering why the name sounded vaguely familiar. He could've sworn that Madame Pomfrey had mentioned it in idle conversation… though why a witch like her would have anything to do with a homeless shelter, he couldn't pretend to know. _Turn left at the end of this block_, Tom interrupted, his handwriting a little more hurried, _and don't drag your lazy arse! You wouldn't want someone to recognize you…_ Unsure of whether Tom was teasing or serious, Harry could understand the sense of the statement.

Midway down the block, Harry stopped and stared in confusion. "Tom…" he said to the open diary, "this is a youth hostel."

_You are a genius_, came Tom's sarcastic reply. _Your powers of observation are surely a boon to the light_.

"Keep that up and I'll find a paper shredder," Harry threatened. "Is this really the place?"

_Tell the receptionist that Mr. Marvolo sends his regards and wishes to know how Jennet is doing_.

Furrowing his brow, Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What does that have to do with anything?" Tom remained ominously silent. "Bossy boots…"

Pulling open the large double doors, Harry passed through the white front hall to the tiny reception room, decorated with black leather chairs and a sickly looking tree. An elderly man was stationed behind the desk, looking rather bored with what had become his lifelong career. He barely acknowledged Harry's arrival before shuffling through some papers and producing a pen. "Name?"

"I'm Har-ow!" Sticking his bleeding finger in his mouth, which stung from the paper cut Tom had just given him, Harry was ready to take that pledge to Riddle's spine until he saw the words… _Don't be a fool! Never give out your name!_ Swallowing nervously, Harry cleared his throat and tried not to feel uncomfortable beneath the man's bemused, expectant gaze. "Er, Mr. Marvolo sends his regards… he wants to know how Jane – Jan – ah, Jennet is doing?"

Blanching, the old man's eyes went comically wide and his mouth hung open to form an 'o.' "Ah-ah-ah, yes, erm… well, she's fine, she's fine… you can tell, him, er-er, Mr. Marvolo, of course, that, that is if you feel so, inclined… ah, young man." With a slightly shaking hand, the man offered Harry a plain white, plastic card, the size and shape of a credit card, while attempting to smile. "Here you are… room 305 in, Tav-Tav-Taviton building… yes, well-"

"Uh… thanks," Harry said uncertainly, carefully accepting the card. Wondering what in Merlin's beard that had all been about, he wasted no time in pressing the card to the scanner, then speed walking down the next hallway to get away from that room with the strange man. "Now where to?" he whispered at the journal.

_Take the lift to the basement. Go through the courtyard. Enter the boiler room_.

Navigating the hostel, Harry soon realized, would have been equivalent to being a rat in a maze, were it not for Tom's prior knowledge of the layout to guide him. Even with Tom's exasperated directions, Harry found himself going up and down more stairs than he probably ever needed to. The only good thing was that they didn't move about like the Hogwarts staircases. Nevertheless, it was a relief for him to find room 305. Pressing the card to the scanner again, he waited for the little green light to blink before he found himself in what appeared to be a dorm room for a single student. "Why are we here?" he asked aloud while surveying the sparse accommodations.

Tom's diary wrenched itself from his hand, flopping open against the bed. A pale light spread across the pages, giving them an almost liquid quality, before a hand reached out to grip the sheets, pulling a much larger torso through the surface. Aghast, Harry held his wand at the ready as a ghostly looking Tom Riddle wriggled out of the journal, sitting heavily on the bed next to it. "Would you put that down?" he snapped at Harry, eying the wand with distaste. "Had I wanted to kill you, I could have easily done so in the past two weeks… stupid, foolhardy, Gryffindors," he muttered to himself. He still looked as he had in the Chamber of Secrets – clad in Slytherin robes with a prefect sash and a shiny, head boy badge. His ebony hair was as neat and symmetrical as ever and his looks were just as dashing – if not a bit less defined in his ghostly form.

"Is this a trap then?" Harry asked with more bravado than he felt, cursing his decision to listen to a disembodied voice rather than his own common sense.

Tom raised a single eyebrow quizzically, a slight smirk quirking his lips. "What would I get out of that?" he pointed out. "I have no way to connect to your life force, so I can't create my own body – killing you would leave me stuck in this diary, in this room, forever… and I don't much fancy having to watch your dead body decompose right in front of me."

Keeping his wand level, Harry glared at Tom suspiciously. "If that's true, how is it that you can come out of that journal?" he questioned, flicking the tip of his wand at the book for emphasis.

"Phoenix tears," Tom answered simply, while dusting off imaginary dirt from the front of his robes. "They are a restorative – granting me a life force, but no body to occupy."

"That's how you survived severing the connection with Ginny," Harry realized.

"Bravo… perhaps you should have been in Ravenclaw," Tom drawled sarcastically.

"If you can do…this," Harry attempted, gesturing at Tom's transparent frame, "why did you stay in the diary? Why not just come out?"

Rolling his eyes, Tom lounged on the bed. "You are daft, Potter, aren't you? Dumbledore would have destroyed me had he seen me… it also costs me energy to project myself like this. I have to store strength before I can separate myself, temporarily, from the diary. The longer I stay within the pages-" he gave the book a look of profound disdain, "-the longer I can keep myself outside of them and the more…solid my form becomes." His gaze became more intent as he caught and held Harry's eyes. "Of course, I could stay out longer if I had a power source to feed me energy."

Unwilling to show his nervousness, Harry swallowed carefully. "You want me to supply you with that power," he stated needlessly.

Shrugging his shoulders in a mockery of carelessness, Tom stood up and noiselessly paced between the bed and the wall. "When you stabbed the diary, all of the ink – stored over the course of _decades_ - ran out. Liquid, my dear, is powerful in any form for its ability to retain ethereal substances."

"Like emotions," Harry finished, recalling what Tom had said in the Chamber while explaining the link between him and Ginny.

"Like emotions," Riddle agreed, pleased with Harry's comprehension. "All of the emotions that fed me are now gone – likely drying next to the dead basilisk. You, however, are _teeming_ with them." A hunger leaked through his voice as he spoke. "I want you to begin writing in the diary once a week… you need to write about something that has happened to you, or a loved one, or something that you've been thinking on that is strongly affecting you – I honestly don't give a flying sod – but it _has_ to be full of emotion."

Laughing nervously, Harry shook his head in wonder. "Why should I do this for you? I've done more than enough – you can't expect me to trust that you wouldn't try to hurt anyone again if you're free to roam around Hogwarts as you please." Unwilling to back down when Tom's expression darkened, Harry crossed his arms and dared Tom to counter him. "Besides, you'd do the same to me as you did to Ginny – I'm not just going to stand back and allow you to possess me."

Tom chuckled in amusement, taking obvious pleasure in Harry's discomfort. "Believe me, Potter, when I say that possessing you is one of the most unappealing prospects I can think of. The very thought of having to manage that birds nest on your head…" Wrinkling his nose in a show of distaste, he vainly ran his fingers through his own perfect locks to enforce his point. "The phoenix tears make possessing you for power unnecessary, at any rate. If you do as I ask and write once a week, by the time you reach your seventh year, my magic should be back to its full potential."

"You still haven't answered why I should do this for you," Harry reminded lowly.

"You should recognize why, Potter," Tom said, softly. "It's because – _you_ are my creator."

Startled, Harry took a few startled steps back and shook his head in denial.

"Oh yes," Tom insisted, gleefully. "You see, you technically didn't just save me- you gave me life via the gift of the phoenix tears. In giving me life, you technically created me. Following the examples of the relationship between the Creator and the created, you are obligated to provide the means necessary in order for me to survive and thrive." Cutting off Harry's retort, he pulled open the drawer of the desk, producing a copy of the _Bible_. "Most people are fairly familiar with this," he said softly, waving the book back and forth. "In Genesis; when God created Adam, he provided him with a home – the Garden of Eden; with a reason to live – holding dominion over all the Earth and naming its creatures; and with companionship – Eve." Putting the religious text down again, he shuffled through a few books that had been left by a former student on a shelf. "'Pygmalion,' _Golem_, Frankenstein, _R.U.R._ … all of these texts demonstrate this relationship and warn of the consequences of what happens when the Creator shuns his creation."

Knowing that he had not previously heard of half of what Tom was referencing, and feeling certain that he wouldn't like what they had to say, Harry felt the need to ask the obvious. "What are those consequences?"

Smirking darkly, Tom stood directly in front of the young wizard. "The creation turns against the Creator and tries to destroy him." This was said offhandedly, as though it were of no real consequence, but Harry could hear the distinct warning beneath it. "Tell me, Potter… will you kill me now, while I am weak and unable to properly defend myself?" Tom held out the diary, battered and feeble, offering it up for Harry to destroy.

Accepting the relic, Harry studied it carefully. "No," he said decisively, shaking his head firmly. "I didn't save you to kill you."

Eyes hardening, Tom stepped even closer so that they were practically sharing the same air. "Then did you save me to punish me?" he hissed in accusation. "If you will not help me to attain a _life,_ then do us both a favor and kill me now… I refuse to live like this," he declared, gesturing at his transparent body. "If you would have me live, than give me a life worth living. Otherwise – " he opened the book to page 35, where it was still yet undamaged – "finish this now and comfort yourself in having freed my spirit."

"Stop it!" Harry demanded, snatching the journal back and closing the cover with a soft thud. "As convincing as this all sounds, you haven't said what you're going to do if I help you. _Why_ do you want to live? To go back to Voldemort and help him kill me?"

Regarding Harry carefully, Tom backed out of his personal space, allowing Harry to release a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. "That was my initial plan," he admitted, turning away from him to face the back wall, "down in the Chamber, that is. But I know myself as I know him, for we are I and I am we. My older self will not share power… not even with another form of himself." Scowling in annoyance, Tom reclaimed his seat on the bed. "No… only one of us can exist at a time. From my understanding, we are both in a similar state of being right now – don't give me that look, you should have not discussed the current Voldemort's predicament with your friends while my diary was in the room," he said, smugly.

"What are you getting at?" Harry prodded, cautiously sitting next to the non ghost on the bed.

For the first time, Tom looked a little uncertain – a little lost. "I'm saying that I can't trust my future – current – self to help me. He would kill me if he knew I was free… or worse – try to lock me back up in that awful thing, permanently." Masking his troubled look, he visibly reigned in his feelings. "This means that I'm on my own and that… I need to reassess my goals. I can't very well work to become a powerful Dark Lord while I'm this vulnerable. All my potential allies have sided with _him_, which leaves me with nothing." A bitter hurt was detectable beneath the anger, as though Tom felt betrayed. "I _will_ make a name for myself in this world, and I can't do it without support or allies." Looking at Harry again, his hand reached out to grasp Harry's. "I need _you_ for that."

Taking his hand back defensively, Harry was unmovable. "I won't help you kill people," he spat. "I'd never help you to hurt others-"

Laughing humorlessly, Tom shook his head in denial. "I believe Voldemort _Sr_. has that area well covered and I will _not_ follow in his shadow, as if I were second to him." Evaluating Harry with his eyes, he cautiously moved forward with his explanation. "I will help you to fight Voldemort... and when the time comes, the whole of the wizarding world will see me supporting you and guiding you. I will be just as much a hero to them as you. Instead of breaking the wizarding world down, then rebuilding it in a new image as Voldemort intends, I will be legally elevated into the position of Minister of Magic and decorated as a war hero. The world shall not fear me – it shall _love_ me for destroying myself. Lord Voldemort will rule… but the world will be responsible for placing me in that position."

A longing, feverish quality had colored the speech and Harry was distantly aware of the fact that there had to be something off about it. It was obvious that Tom was still a bloody narcissist, in love with himself and the idea of having power over others. But if he could help to keep the world safe from Voldemort…

"Let me get this straight…" he said, suspiciously. "You would help me fight off Voldemort, if it comes to that, by giving me information about him. If we win-"

" – When we win," Tom interjected.

" – You'll be happy enough to have a position of power legitimately?" Watching Tom nod to affirm this, he couldn't help but stare in wonder. "And all you want from me is a weekly diary entry? I find that hard to believe…"

"Ah, yes – the trust issue," Tom acknowledged. "Soon enough, I'll tell you about a type of spell to ensure that _both_ of us uphold our end of the bargain. As for your other point, no," he said, smirking, "it won't just be a weekly diary entry." Holding up his hand to forestall Harry's outburst, he clarified, "Those entries are what you owe me as a Creator. I have my Eden – the diary. Your purpose in life is now becoming my purpose in life… and you will be my sole companion for now, for _no one_ can know that I exist until I can defend myself, if need be.

"What you must do in order for me to actively help you defeat your foes is to provide me with a body."

A few moments of silence passed. Harry's fingers played with the edges of the book cover, a student tromped across the floor overhead, and Tom's serious expression never wavered. Then, slowly, a laugh bubbled out of Harry, rising with a tinge of hysteria and filling the room. "You want me to give you a _body_?" Harry laughed, aware of the fact that he sounded a little insane.

Unfazed, Tom jutted his chin into the air. "You can't possibly think that I would keep this ghastly appearance forever," Tom accused. "What kind of Minister would I make if everyone could see through me?"

Wiping tears from his eyes, Harry tried to calm himself down. "Fine – say that I decide to believe you," Harry humored. "Let's say that I can accept that you're willing to turn completely around to help me and that you've given up becoming a Dark Lord. How would I get you a body?"

Tom's smile took on a slightly deranged quality. "You'll have several ways to go about it," Tom said reasonably enough. "I have my theories about which ones will be most effective. The last resort would be to find a corpse-"

" – absolutely not!"

" – which I find rather disgusting," Tom concluded. "I would recommend trying the Golem method first – we can discuss the details of that later." Leaning forward so that their faces were almost touching, Tom forced Harry to look at – or through – him. "So… have we a deal, Potter? A little scribbling here, a little reanimating there, for my full backing and information?" He reached out a hand, not unlike Malfoy had in first year, as though waiting for a handshake.

Harry felt his thoughts moving all about in jumbled confusion. Everything had happened so quickly – there had been a lot of information to take in… but if this was real – if he could have Tom to fight against Voldemort… "Deal," Harry said firmly, surprised when he clasped Tom's hand and it actually felt like flesh.

Flashing one of those charming grins that had fooled so many in the past, Tom kept a firm grip on Harry's hand so that he couldn't take it back. "A wise choice. Now, I will bind us to the agreement – just in case the temptation to renege arises. Usually, this spell calls for a witness, but there are ways around it… there's _always_ a loophole with any situation." Without asking for permission, Tom snatched Harry's wand. He murmured a spell so quickly, with movements that Harry had trouble following, resulting in bright light and a minor pulling sensation inside. It wasn't altogether unpleasant – certainly not painful – but he was aware of it. "The Unbreakable Vow," Tom answered before Harry could ask, sedately returning the wand. Harry grabbed it back, holding it protectively as if Tom would make another snatch for it. "If you break the deal, you die," he said in a no nonsense manner. "If I break the deal, I'm released. I recommend not breaking it for both our sakes."

"Right," Harry said, thinking it to be sound logic. "So… what now? Why are we here of all places?"

Hopping off the bed again, Tom walked back over to the desk. "Might as well get a start on my end of the deal," he said airily, pulling open drawers and shuffling through them. "When I turned fifteen, I left the orphanage – Dumbledore never knew, of course." Finding a stack of papers, he flipped through them idly. "I got a room here – threatened that idiot, Bert Loman, so I wouldn't have to pay a knut. That foolish man was always attached to that wife of his, Jennet." Offering Harry the papers, he looked rather pleased with himself. "I drafted a lot of my plans in this room – I imagine that Voldemort continued coming here after I was split off."

Frowning, Harry looked up at Tom, who seemed to be remembering his time at the hostel with fondness. "What do you mean by 'split off?'"

Visibly tensing, Tom sneered. "I'll give you more information once you keep up your end – one favor at a time, Potter," he drawled. "Be grateful that I knew where to find those. They're-"

"- a list of names," Harry said in bemusement. Scanning the list, he wasn't surprised when he didn't recognize any of them.

"Naturally," Tom said, sarcastically, "I would give you a completely useless piece of paper for no reason other than to gauge your reaction." Rolling his eyes and ignoring Harry's angry huff, he elaborated, "Those are the names of the witches and wizards who showed the most interest and promise in joining me after Hogwarts. They were to become my first Death Eaters."

Blinking at the list, Harry's frown deepened. "What's a Death Eater?"

Looking annoyed, Tom huffed indignantly. "Didn't that old fool Dumbledore teach you _anything_?" Ignoring Harry's spluttering, he made to explain his followers when the color began to drain from his form. "Bollocks!"

Shocked, Harry watched Tom as he faded. "Wha-"

"I'm losing strength," Tom said simply as he began to vanish. "Remember our deal – I'll give you your next bit of information when you write your first entry." He looked as though he would have liked to say something else, but the light enveloped his body and he was whisked away back into his book.

Sighing, Harry took the name list and tucked it securely into his pocket. Moving to take back the diary, he paused when he saw scribble on the pages.

_Take _Golem _with you,_ was the simple order.

Shrugging, Harry did as told, taking the worn play from the bookshelf. Looking around the room for a last time, Harry muttered, "So… does this mean that you don't hate me anymore?" while gathering the journal to leave.

_No – I still hate you,_ Tom reassured, the ink slightly darker around the word 'hate.'

Harry felt oddly comforted.

* * *

Over the course of the summer, Harry and Tom had fallen into a routine. On Monday nights, Harry would scribble a quick entry to appease Tom… and the spell. It had been difficult at first – each entry, Tom insisted, needed to be emotional; had to stir up a well of feeling that Harry could convey to the parchment. It didn't help that Tom seemed to feel a need to comment on everything that Harry wrote, belittling it so that the young wizard would flush in anger and humiliation. Eventually, Harry decided to focus all of his required entries on his Aunt and Uncle and, after the first few, Tom grew bored enough to pay no mind when Harry wrote.

Ever since the incident at Endsleigh Court, Tom hadn't bothered to come out of the diary. Harry could only assume that he was saving his energy for when he might need to make an appearance. Honestly, he wouldn't complain since Tom was – surprisingly – upholding his end of the bargain. Not only did Harry have the list of names to give to Dumbledore, but he knew what, exactly, a Death Eater was, where Tom had planned to go after Hogwarts, and what the initial phases of Tom's plans for world domination had been. Granted, Riddle had admitted that he didn't precisely know how accurate his information was – after all, he hadn't the foggiest about what Voldemort had been up to past the age of 16. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to look into Tom's leads.

As Harry's thirteenth birthday approached, he had tried (unsuccessfully) to wheedle more information out of Tom – particularly, what exactly Tom was. Usually, Tom simply wouldn't respond, though he occasionally would write back a stilted answer that left Harry feeling that the youth was uncomfortable with discussing it. Whatever it was, Harry was sure that Tom would eventually have to answer or risk being sent into the next life.

Unfortunately, Harry had other things on his mind to distract him from the odd relationship he had forged with his teenaged enemy.

_What is an Aunt Marge?_ Tom's lazy scrawl had queried, while Harry attempted to find an outfit without too many holes in it.

"She's my Uncle's sister," Harry said, offhandedly, resigned to an overly large button up shirt. "She likes dogs – especially when they don't like me."

_Care to write about her?_ Harry could almost hear the hopeful lilt to the suggestion.

"You got your entry for the week already," Harry reminded dourly.

_What if I told you that it's my birthday?_

"Is it?" Harry asked in surprise, feeling slightly guilty that he had not thought of it before.

_'Course not,_ Tom shamelessly admitted. _With how gullible you are, it's a wonder you've lived to see your birthday._

"Stuff it, you," Harry sulked, shutting the diary while preparing himself to deal with another noxious relative.

"I would, but I've been a bit bored lately – you're too easy to rile." Tom's voice sounded aloud and Harry whirled to see the youth lounging casually on his bed, inspecting his fingernails.

"Not today!" Harry asserted, grabbing the diary and holding it out for Tom. "Get back in there – I have enough to deal with as it is."

Smirking, Tom slowly shook his head. "I think I'd rather have a little free time out here – have you any notion of how cramped it can get when you're two dimensional?" Not waiting for a response, he inspected the room briefly while curling his lip. "And to think that I had assumed that your entries were exaggerating…"

"I haven't time for this," Harry muttered. Turning his back on Tom, he marched determinedly down the stairs, where his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin were twittering to each other about Marge's impending arrival.

"Ah… _boy_," Uncle Vernon sneered once he noticed Harry's arrival. "You _will_ be on your best behavior today, you hear? No funny business or weirdness from you, or it's back in the cupboard for the remainder of the holidays!"

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry replied automatically, too used to the routine by now to care.

"You will be polite to Aunt Marge," Uncle Vernon continued imperiously. "You will speak only when spoken to. You will-"

"Bloody hell," Tom laughed in wonder from the top of the stairs, "he's got you well trained, hasn't he?"

Eyes widening in panic, Harry desperately looked back and forth between Uncle Vernon's enormous, ranting form and Tom's impeccable, _visible_/form, which was currently gliding down the stairs. Instantly, he recalled the Dobby incident of last summer. If Uncle Vernon realized that Tom was a wizard –

"Don't wet yourself," Tom drawled, coming to stand directly behind Harry. "They can't see me – just you. Wouldn't want my benefactor to end up grounded, would I?"

_Lucky me,_ Harry wanted to answer, struggling to not give away that something wizardy was going on.

Aunt Marge's arrival was met with the usual pomp and circumstance. With barely a glance in Harry's direction, her luggage was hefted upon him, freeing her arms to surge forward, embracing a disgruntled Dudley. Staggering under the luggage that weighed about the same as himself, Harry was grateful – marginally, at any rate – for an excuse to leave the rotund family for a few minutes. As he wrestled his way up the stairs, he saw Tom give him a knowing smirk while making no move to help him with his burden. Huffing, Harry tried to ignore his unwanted companion, who had gone back to watching the Dursley's with a horrified sort of fascination.

When it came time to serve dinner, Tom had pompously taken Harry's seat, obviously enjoying the way that Harry was made to wait on the others. While the whole situation irked Harry, it was Aunt Marge that crossed the line before Tom had the opportunity to do so himself.

"It's the same with breeding dogs," she concluded her tirade against Harry's lineage – watching Harry from her beetle like eyes. "The quality of the litter is always determined by the _bitch_."

Furious – beyond furious – Harry felt a tremor spread through his body, mingled with a bitter longing to be able to do something… something to hurt her. Clenching and unclenching his fingers, he tried to think of something cutting to say when he heard a low hiss from the table. "_Inflatio_!"

One moment, Harry was looking at Tom, trying to figure out what it was that he had just said. Soon after, he noticed his own wand being clutched by the other wizard and pointed directly at Aunt Marge. It was when said Aunt became even more enormous than usual, her clothes straining to protect the dignity of her rather undignified form, that Harry realized what was going on.

"Tom!" Running to the table, he snatched back the wand. "You didn't!"

"Fine. I didn't," he agreed amiably, radiating self satisfaction. By this point, Aunt Marge was bouncing about the ceiling like a strange sort of beach ball and the Dursley's were running about in circles, trying to get her to come down. "I don't see what the big deal is, really… there isn't a noticeable difference in her size."

Pulling at his hair, Harry nearly made a whimpering sound when he saw Aunt Marge float out the door. "You can't just blow people up whenever you feel like it!" he insisted. Really looking at Tom for a moment, he hazarded, "Er… why did you blow her up? It was me that she was insulting."

Faltering, Tom made to answer, but an owl chose that very moment to swoop through the window, depositing a rather important looking letter in front of the pair. Tearing it open, Harry's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Bugger!"

--

--

"Will you slow down?" Tom griped, stalking after Harry's irate form. "I didn't mean to get you expelled!"

"Well con-bloody-grautlaions – you managed to do just that!" Harry snapped, without looking over his shoulder. He was dragging his trunk, stuffed with all of his personal belongings, down the empty street after having stormed away from the Dursley's. Tom, unbidden, had come shortly after, miffed that Harry had stuffed the diary under the bed pillow with the apparent intent to leave it there.

"Watch that cheek, Potter," Tom scolded, irritably. "Surely your beloved Dumbledore can get you back in. Why you're being such a drama queen-" He stopped mid-sentence and mid-step, staring into a patch of darkness with widened eyes.

"What?" Harry asked nervously, unable to see anything nearby.

"I think there's… a dog," Tom said slowly, sounding very unsure.

Figuring that he was already in enough trouble, and that one more spell could hurt nothing, Harry cast a _Lumos_, briefly outlining the silhouette of some four legged creature. That was the only glimpse that Harry or Tom had before a large, double-decker, purples bus appeared from nowhere. Jumping back, Harry looked wildly at Tom for an explanation.

"The Knight Bus," Riddle supplied readily, looking somewhat relieved.

"I thought the Night Bus only runs in the cities," Harry queried.

Scoffing, Tom shook his head. "_Knight_ – with a k… typical wizarding pun," he muttered. "Go on and get a ticket. It'll take you wherever you need to go." As the doors opened and a young man – who Harry would soon learn was called Stanley Shunpike – was already jabbering about something or other.

"I don't know where I'm going," Harry tried to say to Tom, but was intercepted by Stanley.

"Ow, that's easy! If yer got no place in mind, the Leaky Cauldron is the ticket!" While Stanley spoke to himself, unbeknownst to him, Harry saw a barely perceptible nod from Tom before he paid the fee and held on for dear life. Tom, to Harry's displeasure, was immune to the lurching and ricocheting of the bus. Even in the equivalent of an earthquake, Riddle somehow managed to remain dignified and unflustered.

Upon arriving at the Leaky Cauldron and being lead away by Tom (Riddle had been highly affronted to hear his name attached to such an ugly man), Minister Fudge ambushed Harry in his new room – reinstating him as a student, of course – and convincing Tom (Riddle this time) that there would be no competition for Minister when the time came for Tom M. Riddle to take his rightful place in society.

"It might not even be so bad if I have to off him," he had commented, to which Harry couldn't really protest.

Settling down in the foreign room, Harry couldn't help but feel a little disappointed when Tom returned to the diary – necessary, of course, but leaving Harry alone and to his own devices. Inwardly sighing, Harry pulled out _Golem_ and continued to read, knowing that Tom wanted him to take from it something important.

Unfortunately – or fortunately – Harry was fast asleep when a single finger reached out to trace his scar, a cruel smirk twisting the lips of his visitor's face.

**_Author's Notes:_**

Got this one out a day before I originally planned to - a good omen, I should think... Anyway, this setting in London is not at all fictitious - these are the parts that I am most familiar with, so I'm following the golden rule of writing: "Write what you know." Also, there IS a St. Mungo's and it is a homeless shelter. I took pictures, so I have proof!

The books that I mentioned in this chapter pertain to the overall plot of this fic. _Golem_ will have an especially important role. Now, I don't know how many people would actually get offended at me mentioning the _Bible_, but try not to. It's a good source for backing up Tom's argument - an argument that I did NOT make up on my own. It's true that, throughout literature from the Greecian era, there is a bond between a Creator and the created portrayed that suggests certain obligations on both of their parts. Genesis does an excellent job of demonstrating that.

To those of you who **reviewed,** I am very grateful! "Interesting" seems to be the key word right now, so I'll take it as a compliment and work to keep you interested. Thank you _Kirril, Guardian Angel of Wolves, Mikee, Yana5, _and _Sealed. _A special thank you to _yaoi gravi girl_ - I'm honored that you would go through so much trouble to read my writing! Thank you also to _Helen Racine_ for not giving up on me! You guys all rock!

Now... review! (waves wand)


	3. His Gold Complexion Dimmed

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from the series by J.K. Rowling. I do own a tub of Play-Doh, but I didn't invent it... or did I?

* * *

**_Sonnet 18_**

**_And Often Is His Gold Complexion Dimmed_**

"We can't talk in here," Harry whispered, eying the other figure in the compartment uncertainly. "That man will hear."

"He's out cold," Tom said carelessly, taking a seat next to the slumped figure and nudging him for emphasis. Mr. R. J. Lupin, as his luggage indicated, didn't stir a bit. "Besides, all the other cars are full up."

Sighing, Harry reluctantly took the opposite seat, hoping that Ron and Hermione wouldn't take too long with getting their luggage situated. This was a conversation that he had been hoping to avoid for a while longer. On their last night before going back to Hogwarts, Harry had written furiously in the journal, informing Tom that there was _no way_ that he would go about the task of building a Golem for him to inhabit. Equally annoyed, Tom had assured Harry that he _certainly would_ be building a Golem – confirming Harry's suspicions as to why Tom was so interested in that play – and had accused him of being a coward. For a good hour, the pair had it out with each other before Tom had ended it by informing Harry that he would be coming out of the diary for the ride back to Hogwarts, then refusing to answer again.

"There isn't much to talk about," Harry stubbornly claimed. "I'm not building a Golem."

Raising a single eyebrow, Tom appeared unconvinced. "It's not exactly a difficult task," he said, reasonably enough. "All you have to do is mold clay into a humanoid shape, then write the enchantment across the forehead. Is that really so much to ask?"

"It's not about the level of difficulty!" Harry argued. "How about the part in the play, near the end, when the Golem went _nutters_ and started killing everyone?"

Unmoved, Tom shrugged his shoulders. "That only happened because the Maharal built it to be a killing machine, then treated it as an inferior being." Leaning forward slightly, Tom forced Harry to look at him. "When you build the Golem that will be me, you won't be thinking evil things, will you?"

"No," Harry could honestly say, "I'll probably be thinking of ways to get the gunk off my hands."

"And we both know that I could never be inferior to you, so that's a non issue," Tom finished smoothly, seemingly satisfied with himself.

None too pleased with how the discussion was going, Harry fished for an excuse. "I'm terrible with that sort of stuff," he protested. "Dudley had this thing called 'Play-Doh' once… I tried to make a cat and it ended up as a lumpy circle with triangles on top." At this point, Harry knew that appealing to Tom's vanity might be the only way to change his mind.

Oddly enough, Tom only smiled. "It doesn't matter much how the Golem looks as long as it's human shaped," he explained amicably. "Once you animate it and my spirit inhabits it, the clay will become flesh and my appearance will shape it."

"Oh," Harry said weakly, unsure of what else to say. He was saved from having to look for a new excuse when Ron and Hermione finally pulled open the door.

"-know he tried to!" Ron was ranting, his face flushed in anger. "That _thing_ is going to be the death of Scabbers!"

"Don't listen to him, Crookshanks," Hermione cooed to the ugly, ginger cat, petting its head soothingly. "Mean old Ron doesn't mean it."

"Of course I do," Ron growled, sitting next to Harry. "Can you believe she brought that thing here with her?" he asked Harry, sourly.

Assuming her 'no nonesense' look, Hermione clutched Crookshanks defensively. "Well, Ronald, where would you have me put him? In with the luggage? I would never do that to a sweet, innocent, living thing."

Guiltily, Harry tried not to think of Hedwig being stuffed in the luggage car as usual.

"Sweet? Innocent? Ha!" Ron scoffed, glowering at the squash faced feline. "More like evil and twisted and – who's the old guy?" Ron's tirade was effectively cut off when he first took note of their fourth – technically, fifth – companion.

"Dunno – his luggage says R. J. Lupin," Harry pointed out.

"Try not to make idiots of yourselves," Hermione chastised, glaring pointedly at Ron. "He's probably going to be a new Hogwarts teach – maybe Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yeah? Well, I hope he teaches us some good hexes for Evil Animal Repelling," he quipped, pointing at Crookshanks. He brightened in the next moment. "EAR! I can start a movement – the EAR!"

"I suggest that you learn to use _yours_ first," Hermione retaliated, petting Crookshanks so furiously that the poor cat's entire body moved with her hand.

Tom, in the meantime, had watched the entire exchange with visible amusement. "I think I get it, Potter," he finally conceded. "They're amusing. Tolerable, even."

Unable to do anymore than glare, Harry tried to ignore Tom's comments – even when he went so far as to pinch Ron and tug at Hermione's hair, which would start their fighting all over again. Apparently, they thought that it was the other one doing it.

Aside from the squabbling of his best friends, the train ride was fairly uneventful. Tom eventually got bored of instigating arguments and spent most of his time whispering at Harry about the Golem project – after the first half hour, Harry fancied himself an expert in ignoring the cajoling of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He could picture Tom as a little, three inch tall devil with a pitchfork, sitting on his left shoulder and poking him with the prongs. When he thought about whom the angel on the right could be… he drew a blank.

With a screech, the train came to an abrupt halt, nearly sending the trio flying from their seats. Immediately, the lights began to waver and extinguish, leaving the car in a state of semi darkness.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, in bewilderment.

"Language!" Hermione scolded, looking a little uncertain herself. "We've probably stopped for an animal or something," she tried to reason. "Trains stop like this all the time…"

Unexplainably anxious, Harry felt the air growing thick and cold – frost had begun to form on the outside of the windows and was spreading to block his view of the peaceful country scene outside.

"No…" Tom whispered, looking horrified where he stood.

"What's happening?" Harry asked nervously, hoping that Ron and Hermione would assume that he was merely vocalizing his thoughts.

Snapping into action, Tom seized Harry's arm and pulled him toward the sliding door. "Run, Potter!" he bellowed, tugging him into the aisle. "Do as I say and _run for it!_"

Terrified only because Tom was, Harry followed his lead. Before they could open the doors separating his car from the next, he managed to glance over his shoulder. Just as Tom was pulling him through, he saw three tall, skeletal looking creatures in tattered cloaks gliding into the car, breathing in rattling, gasping breaths. Chills ran down each of Harry's limbs, all the way to the bone, and he knew with no uncertainty that only bad things could come of those creatures getting a hold of him.

"My friends!" he gasped, as Tom slammed shut the door and barreled down the next isle. "I need to go back for them!"

"No," Tom ordered decisively, apparently in no mood to reason. "They'll be perfectly fine – I can promise you that. If anyone has cause to worry, it's us." Swiftly, he took them from car to car, weaving in and out of perplexed students and excess luggage. Through it all, Harry could nearly feel the creatures following them, somehow sensing their movements. It was when Tom reached the foremost car, in which the engineer controlled the train, that he finally stopped. Presently, it was empty of people – the engineer had probably stepped outside to try to see what was going on. Near the coal stacks, which were shoveled as fuel for the train, a couple soot covered house elves waited expectantly. Despite the dire situation, Harry saw that a couple of them were nibbling pastries and he noted it to tell Ron later – Ron always had wondered what happened to the leftovers.

"In the name of Merlin, _why_ are Dementors here?" Tom hissed to himself, pacing back and forth across the floor.

"Dementors?" Harry asked, immediately not liking the name.

"They usually guard Azkaban," Tom said, distractedly. "They're magical constructs that suck all the happiness out of a person – Muggles label it as 'Depression.' Worse than that, they perform the Dementor's Kiss when they are permitted to."

Wrinkling his nose, Harry frowned in disgust. "They… kiss people?" The thought of being kissed by such a hideous creature made him want to vomit.

Snorting humorlessly, Tom shook his head frantically. "No, they… put their mouths over their victim's and suck the soul out."

Horrified, Harry felt his previous fear return tenfold. As a little boy, his primary school teacher had once told the class that dying wasn't really a scary thing – that people live forever afterwards because their soul does. Harry had liked hearing that… he had always thought about how wonderful it would be to see his Mum and Dad, who had to be waiting for him in the next life. To know that such a being existed that could destroy that reunion… that could suck out his soul, and… and what? Send him to oblivion, most likely.

In alarm, Harry was suddenly _aware_ of how dark his thoughts were becoming and he knew that it meant that the Dementors were close. Tom strode next to him and grasped his shoulders tightly. "Listen, Potter, and listen close – I'm going to teach you a spell and you need to _get it right,_ right away."

"No pressure there," Harry mocked.

"Hush! Now take your wand and do this pattern." He demonstrated the motion in the air. "Quickly!" He waited impatiently for Harry to demonstrate it. "Good. Now, I want you to think of a memory – the best, happiest memory that you have – while performing the motion and yelling, '_Expecto Patronum_!'"

Harry honestly tried, but with how close the Dementors had gotten, even his happiest memory felt sullied… as though he had never had a truly happy moment in his life. "_Expecto Patronum_!" he said weakly, knowing full well that nothing would happen.

"Again!" Tom ordered, urgently. "You have to try again!"

"Why me?" Harry shot back. "You do it!" He tried to give the wand to Tom.

Recoiling, Tom shook his head furiously. "I can't perform that spell! I never could!"

Shocked that Tom would admit to not being able to properly cast a spell, he pressed, "Why? You must have at least _one_ good memory!"

Tom's silence was answer enough.

Able to hear the rattling breathing from the other side of the door, Harry felt his desperation increase. "_Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum_! Tom, it's not _working_!"

"Keep going!" Tom urged, as he backed further against the wall. "Potter, they're going to kill us!"

The door was pulled open by long, bony fingers. The house elves, who had watched Harry's behavior with uncertainty, immediately scattered to hide behind the coal pile. Three Dementor's noiselessly glided into the car, their faceless hoods pointed directly at Harry. "_Expecto… Expecto_…" Collapsing to his knees, Harry felt as though he were tumbling down and down, into a great abyss. A ringing began in the back of his skull and escalated into a shrill scream, a woman's voice, calling his name, Tom's yelling mixing into it, cold hands grabbing his shoulders to pull him close to rotting breath and hollow eyes Merlin, Merlin, stop that screaming, you'll burst my ear drums, hold still now, "really, Mr. Potter, you're behaving like a child!"

Snapping his eyes open, Harry frantically sat up straight. Madame Pomfrey stood next to his bed, her hair mussed from his apparent flailing.

The Hospital Wing… he was in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts! "Madame Pomfrey," he said, disbelief laced in his tone.

"No – I'm the tooth fairy and I'm here to give you a galleon," she said sarcastically, but lightly enough to show that she wasn't really mad. Softening her expression, she tutted over him while pushing him to lie back down. "You had quite a scare with those Dementors. Who knows what would have happened if Professor Lupin had not gone looking for you."

"Professor Lupin?" Peering around Pomfrey's frame, Harry could see the raggedy looking man that had been asleep in his compartment, now standing awkwardly near the exit.

"Hello Harry," Lupin greeted in a soft spoken manner. Moving forward tentatively, as though worried about spooking him, he held out a bar of chocolate. "Dementors are nasty creatures to have a run in with – chocolate is the best way to dispel their effects."

Gratefully accepting the treat, Harry wasted no time in popping a square into his mouth. Almost immediately, he began to feel better. "Thank you, Professor," he said, earnestly. "If I might ask… do you know what happened to my friends – Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?"

Smiling weakly, Lupin nodded. "They're both fine… the Dementors took a peek into the compartment and moved on. Why the Ministry would allow those things on a train full of _students_…"

"Why _did_ the Ministry allow them on?" Harry asked, feeling as though he were missing out on something.

Looking a little guilty and uncomfortable, Lupin looked back and forth before sighing and searching for words. "Are you… aware of a convict named-"

"Sirius Black," Harry supplied. He felt that he knew where the explanation was going.

"There was a concern that he might try to board the Hogwarts Express," Lupin said, evasively.

"Er… why?" Harry asked, noting that Lupin was having a hard time looking at him.

"Well… I don't know that I should-"

"That's enough for now!" Madame Pomfrey declared, and Lupin looked vastly relieved. "Mr. Potter needs his rest."

Frustrated, Harry was prepared to argue, when Lupin reached into one of his shabby pockets and produced something small and square. "I almost forgot – you dropped this on the train." It was the journal.

After Lupin had left, and before Pomfrey could come back to discharge Harry to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry carefully opened Tom's diary, unaccountably nervous. Taking a quill from the bedside stand, he scratched out, _Tom? Are you alright_? Waiting for a few moments, he tried again. _Tom? Are you in there_?

There was no answer.

* * *

"Blimey – you look terrible!" was Ron's greeting the next morning. He had already stuffed down three servings of toast and baked beans, two bowls of plum yogurt, and was stuffing a baguette with anything within reach. Hermione had her fork at the ready, lest Ron's hand wander to food that was already claimed.

"That's rude," Hermione chastised, frowning disapprovingly at Ron. Then she took a good look at Harry. "Well… you do look a little peaky, Harry."

"Thanks for noticing," he mumbled after collapsing into his seat. After settling into the dorm, he had stayed up fairly late, trying to coax a response from the diary. Though the ink would sink into the pages, no reply would present itself. Forced to give up for the night, Harry had tucked in, only to be met by nightmares. He kept seeing the Dementors coming for him, then grabbing the diary from his hands and sucking Tom out of it… eating him while Harry watched. Even after waking up, Harry couldn't comfort himself by saying that it was only a dream. For all he knew, Tom was digesting in a Dementor's belly.

"Hey, Potter!" The shout came from the Slytherin table and Harry wasn't surprised to see that it was from Draco Malfoy. "Potter, look out! There's a Dementor behind you!" Widening his eyes and forming his mouth into an 'o,' Malfoy shook dramatically before pretending to faint, sending his house into an uproar. "No – don't let them get me!" he howled on the floor.

"Pay him no mind," Hermione said, turning Harry away from them. "He doesn't know anything."

"At's fo sho," Ron agreed, raising a sausage for emphasis.

After receiving their Time Tables – Ron and Harry complaining while Hermione beamed – the trio set out for Divination with Professor Trelawney. Ron and Hermione bickered – over Hermione's odd schedule, her homicidal cat, and Ron's crude manners – while Harry surreptitiously kept checking the diary for some sign of life.

Finding the Astronomy tower was worse than trying to navigate the London hostel. The trio went from floor to floor, staircase to staircase, all the while asking portraits for directions. One particularly nasty portrait of a greasy old man sent them the entirely wrong way for his own amusement. Ron had promptly gone back to draw a mustache on his face ("Filch will have kittens!"). Eventually, Sir Cadogen lead them to the correct floor and they found themselves seated in poufs, nearly passing out from strong perfumes, and staring at a woman who looked more like a giant insect than a Professor.

Tea drinking was a delightful surprise as far as Ron and Harry were concerned – a complete waste of time to Hermione, but boys tended to not complain if food and drink were involved. Squinting at the dregs at the bottom of the cup, Ron was trying to make some sense out of the soggy leaves.

"Well… if you squint a bit, tilt your head to the left, and hold the cup to the side…it looks like a waves."

Snorting, Harry raised one eyebrow. "Waves?"

"You know – the ocean and stuff," Ron defended. "And over the waves, there's a moon, I think."

"Let's look it up," Harry laughed. "Waves… aha, water. 'Symbol of death and rebirth; a metaphorical womb and tomb – can mean one, the other, or both.' That's brilliantly vague."

"And the moon," Ron added, "is the cycle of life, death, and renewal. Its phases represent the phases of life." He picked up the cup again and squinted at it. "It looks like a full moon, so – life? Wait… a crescent moon… so death. Or is it a new moon?"

"If we base it off the shower incident this morning, then it's definitely a full moon." Harry ducked when Ron picked up a pillow to thwap him over the head.

"Alright then – what's mine say," Ron demanded.

Tilting his head, Harry wrinkled his nose. "I see…an animal. It's small – a rat," he concluded.

Brightening, Ron flipped through the book. "Maybe it's Scabbers!"

"There's something else," Harry added. "It has four legs… I think it's trying to bite him. A cat."

"Very funny Harry," Ron sulked, sending a glare at Hermione for the very mention of Crookshanks.

"I'm serious!" Harry defended, holding out the cup.

Ron took a peek, then shook his head. "The head is off a bit… looks more like a dog…"

Swooping down on the table, Professor Trelawney seized the cup from Ron's hand. "And how are your readings going my dears, hm? Let's see what Mr. Potter's tea cup has to say."

"But that's not-"

"Merlin!" Staggering back, she clutched her chest as if in agony. "Oh, my dear boy… I'm so sorry… I'm afraid that you have… the _Grim_!"

"_What_?" Jumping from his seat, Ron looked panic stricken. "I'm going to die!"

Blinking her overlarge eyes, Trelawney seemed confused. "What?"

"That's Ron's," Harry explained. "What's a Grim?"

"It's a large, black dog," Dean Thomas piped up, taking a look at the cup himself. "It's said to be an omen of death. They usually live in graveyards, in the bell tower. Their paw prints scorch the ground beneath them. Seeing one usually means that you have twenty four hours to live."

"My uncle died after seeing a Grim!" Ron whimpered hysterically. Hermione looked thoroughly disgusted with the whole spectacle.

Trelawney, on the other hand, looked entirely disappointed. "Yes… terrible, tragedy..." Taking Harry's cup, she hardly spared it a glance before shattering it against the ground with a shriek. "It's just _awful_! Mr. Potter… you have the grim - _and_ the grim reaper!" Swooning, she fell backwards into her own pouf. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown rushed to her aid, fanning her with their hands.

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Harry looked at Ron's pale face. "Come off it," he whispered. "She's obviously off her rocker."

"But what if she isn't?" Ron whined. "What if the grim comes for me?"

"Offer him some kibble?"

--

--

Though Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class was next, Harry wasn't much looking forward to it. Ron and Hermione had gotten into a slightly more serious tiff when they had returned to the dorm to see Scabber's tail hanging out of Crookshank's mouth – it was a miracle that they got to it before the cat swallowed. Ron was mad at Harry for not taking his impending death seriously enough. Hermione was mad at Harry because… well… he couldn't rightly say.

"Some friends you are," Ron moped as they came upon the rest of the class. "Soon enough, my rat and I will be dead and you lot couldn't give a flying sod."

"We'll find a fancy box for Scabber's funeral," Hermione said, waspishly. "You… we'll toss you in the lake. Maybe the squid will find you as amusing as we do right about now."

"Leave me out of this!" Harry exclaimed, when Ron's glare settled on him. He gave a start when he felt a book begin to move around in his carrier. Immediately assuming that it was Tom, he fished it out, only to be disappointed when it was his belt bound Monster Book of Monsters. Back at the Leaky Cauldron, Tom hadn't much cared for the text. Each time the thing would skid across the floor growling, Tom would write, _Where's it now_? to Harry. Harry fully enjoyed telling Tom that he had almost been another book's meal several times… until Tom caught on to the game, realizing that he was safely out of its reach, and made an appearance to shut the book up via Harry's belt. Harry's punishment had been to go about for the rest of the day holding up his drawers.

Hagrid had finished telling the class how to open their texts – "Yeh have teh stroke em!" – and Harry found that they were being lead to some sort of… surprise. Surprise was never a good word with Hagrid. Surprise usually meant that you were at risk of losing a finger, or smelling like flobberworm goo, or dying – minor consequences, to be sure. When Buckbeak was introduced to the class as a part of a herd – flock? – of hippogriffs, Harry suspected that the latter was true this time.

"I'm not having any of it!" Ron protested when Hagrid encouraged Ron to approach Buckbeak. "That thing will kill me! Professor Trelawney told me so!"

"Ron, don't be a ninny! Divination is a highly inaccurate form of-"

"Alright, alright, I'll do it," Harry groaned, almost not regretting it when he saw Hagrid's huge, grateful smile. Bowing and scraping, it took a woefully long amount of time for Buckbeak to warm up to him. The instant the feathered creature did, unfortunately, Hagrid saw fit to heave him up onto the creature's back.

"Geeyup, now!" the half giant bellowed, slapping Buckbeak on the haunch. Panicked, Harry clenched his legs tightly about the girth of Buckbeak's sides, struggling to hold on with his legs rather than his arms. The hippogriff's canter was a harsh rocking motion and several times, Harry feared that the head would bash in his nose. It didn't improve much once they were airborne. Being constructs, hippogriffs weren't naturally designed to carry passengers – whatever wizard bred them so many millennia ago had probably given up with the current breed as a result.

Buckbeak let out a mixed whinny shriek, diving at the lake and spraying Harry with the water. It took a moment, but he realized that this was the creature's way of playing with him. Rising again, they began to circle Hogwarts and – since he wasn't in the middle of a Quidditch match, as tended to be the case when he was on a broom – Harry took the opportunity to fully enjoy the view.

That's when he saw it. Down by the greenhouses, barely distinguishable, but noticeable enough as boy and hippogriff flew closer and closer. Making a sudden decision, and hoping that a little magic wouldn't spook Buckbeak, Harry drew his wand and aimed. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The spell hit its target, which levitated to float behind Buckbeak. As if reading Harry's actions and choosing to make it harder for the young wizard to get away with the deed, Buckbeak veered back toward Hagrid's Hut and the Forbidden Forest. Looking about quickly, Harry saw the perfect location – a turret that was not too far from the Gryffindor tower. In the dead of night, he could summon it from his window and sneak it through the castle. Directing the floating mass to the safe landing point, he avidly hoped that Professor Sprout would not be making flower pots today.

--

--

Sneaking out of the Common Room had been fairly simple for Harry to manage. Hermione had gone straight to the Girl's Dorms to do homework and go to bed, clutching Crookshanks protectively as she stormed off. Ron, saying something about writing a Will, had collected Scabbers and disappeared. Left to his own devices, Harry had gone to the window, as planned, and summoned the rather large clay mound that he had nicked from Professor Sprout's gardens. Draping the invisibility cloak over it, it was just a matter of floating it down to…

… to where?

It needed to be somewhere safe… somewhere removed from the eyes of all other students and professors. Dumbledore already seemed suspicious that Harry was up to something. He was still the smiling, benevolent professor that Harry had admired right from the off, but his gaze always seemed to look for something in Harry that the youth himself was not forthcoming about. The feeling was rather unsettling.

None of the classrooms seemed quite abandoned enough. Even Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was occasionally used by someone. But there was always…

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Harry muttered to himself, the closer he got to the second floor. "I'm mental for doing this." He continued his litany as he went into Myrthle's bathroom, hissed the necessary _open_ at the sink faucets, then slid down the tunnel with the clay floating easily behind. Feeling gross and slimy from the brief contact with the tunnel, Harry tried to comfort himself for a sound decision. "No one else can come down here," he breathed. "Tom is – who knows where… starting on the Golem is the least I can do for him…" So consumed in guilt was he over his own actions or inactions, that he failed to notice the removal of the tiny skeletons along the floor… or how the grime had been mostly cleaned away… or how the basilisk was missing from in front of Salazar Slytherin's statue. What he did notice was the dull ache that had begun in his scar, which burned and spiked with pain, ebbing and flowing as if pulsing and alive.

"I wondered when you would come," a smooth voice lilted, echoing from the walls.

Snapping his head up in shock, and dropping his hand from where it had been furiously rubbing his scar, Harry froze when he saw Tom leaning against the statue. Upon seeing Tom's easily smiling face, relief crashed through him – he was alive, or as alive as he had ever been, and that was all that mattered. On its heels, however, was a suspicion… and the uneasiness that always coiled in his stomach when he saw Tom.

"Well… that's a fond welcome back for you," Tom mocked, taking the initiative himself to stride forward and embrace Harry. "I cleaned up a bit while I was down here – not exactly a homey environment, but it will serve its purpose." Ruffling Harry's hair in a gesture of familiarity, he watched him expectantly.

Blinking up at Tom owlishly, Harry could only force one word past his lips. "How?"

Smirking – the expression looked so much more familiar and in place on Tom's face than a genuine smile – Tom resumed his usual arrogance. "While you were having a bit of a fit on the train, that Lupin character drove off the Dementors. He took the diary before I could slip back in, so I had to follow him all the way back to Hogwarts. The problem is… I made it as far as the Entrance Hall before losing too much energy. I couldn't go back into the journal to recharge so-" He gestured at the floor of the chamber, where a puddle of ink was. "I rewet the stuff that spilled from the diary when you stabbed it and have been living off of that. Not too sure what I would have done had you not come down here."

Harry doubted that… knowing Tom, he had had something planned out. There had also been no guarantee that Harry would ever think to go into the Chamber of Secrets again... "Well, I'm here," he said, needlessly. Brightening, he used his wand to lower the clay mound. "I, er, got this for you. For the Golem."

Visibly pleased, Tom hurried over to look at the catch. "Yes… this will serve nicely," he said judiciously, inspecting the block from all angles. "This should easily make for a life size replica." Whirling about expectantly, Tom eyed Harry. "I take it you were going to begin tonight, yes? Very well – I won't keep you." Without another word, he disappeared within the journal.

Affronted, Harry picked the book up and stared at it incredulously. "What the – I've been dying of guilt, and all he says is a bloody 'I'm fine, get to work'? Rubbish!" Annoyed – and a little disappointed – Harry sighed and regarded the clay carefully before setting upon it. He hadn't been fooling when he had said that he was horrible with crafts… Tom would truly be lucky if the clay succeeded in becoming something beyond appearing like a square block, then appearing like a roundish, less square block.

Had Harry looked up from his task at any point, he might have realized that he was being watched… and that the watcher's gaze had a particular quality to it.

_Obsession._

**_Authors Notes:_**

I'm going to give you all a tidbit of info that Harry isn't going to figure out and that Tom won't tell Harry about. The Dementors are so drawn to Harry because he's keeping company with Tom _and_ a Horcrux. Though the Ministry has laid down rules to protect the students, the Dementors know what Tom is and what the Horcrux is, and (to their way of thinking), eating their souls breaks no rules, so… Harry is fair game. Harry doesn't know that Tom is a piece of severed soul and won't recognize the danger or the implication of that.

Just to give out a heads up, I can say with (sort of, nearly, maybe) certainty that this fic will have 14 chapters – well, 13 and an epilogue. I already know how it's going to end and I actually have that epilogue written.

The end of the semester is approaching, so I will try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can. I have a massive research paper, a presentation, two essays, and a test in the next two weeks, so I'll do my best to get done what needs must be done without it taking up all my time. For now – though I won't commit to it – I'll say May 4th for chapter 4.

Again, thanks so much to those of you who **reviewed!** I appreciate each and every one of you who took the time to give me feedback! I wrote some responses below, though I encourage _everyone_ to read them too since it has some information and hints about what's going on in the fic:

_Faia Sakura_ – Thanks for the compliment! I certainly hope that improvement can be seen between the two fics. While still OOC, I wanted to try to keep at least some integrity of the original characters in this version. I'm toying with the idea of removing the original one, but I haven't come to any definite decisions yet.

_Katsy17_ – for that, you get a cookie. Digital, yes, but still a cookie.

_Yana5_ – Sorry, but it wouldn't be very believable if Harry and Tom instantly became the best of friends (as I did with the original version). It may come about further down the road (I won't tip my hand on what I have planned for their relationship), but there's way too many trust issues to get over first. Thanks for reviewing and hopefully Tom and Harry will get their act together!

_Guardian Angel of Wolves_ – Ooo, you are a good reader! The Unbreakable Vow is a drastic measure, but remember Tom's assertion: "There's always a loophole." Harry also didn't pay attention to what was being said, so we'll never know what exactly Tom laid down as the terms of the Vow. That, and you have to question how legitimate the spell was since there was no witness. Sneaky, sneaky Slytherin… as for his only wanting to be the MoM, you're right not to trust him.

_yaoi gravi girl_ – Since you're going through such trouble to read the fic, I thought I would try using Babel Fish to attempt to translate back, haha. Probably does not work very well, but I'll give it a try. Things may be going the way Tom wants them to for now, but we'll have to see if it keeps up. Harry's still fairly young and trusting in CoS – he still seems to want to believe in the essential goodness of the human heart. Tom's only lucky that he did not stumble across 5th year Harry… Time will move a bit quicker in this than in the books, by necessity, though I haven't decided yet whether this will only be third year or third and fourth. I'm leaning toward the condensed version… As for the connection between Tom the horcrux and Harry's scar horcrux, I think I might be able to surprise some people. Thanks again!

Puisque vous passez par un tel ennui pour lire le fic, j'ai pensé que j'essayerais d'employer des poissons de Babel pour essayer de traduire en arrière, haha. Ne travaille pas probablement très bien, mais je le donnerai que les choses d'un essai peuvent allant la manière Tom les vouloir à pour maintenant, mais nous devrons voir si elle continue. Harry toujours assez jeune et faisant confiance dans Cos - il semble toujours vouloir croire en qualité essentielle du coeur humain. Seul chanceux de Tom qu'il n'a pas trébuché à travers la 5ème année Harry... Le temps déplacera un peu plus vite en cela que dans les livres, par nécessité, bien que je n'aie pas décidé encore si ce sera seulement troisième année ou troisième et quatrième. Je me penche vers la version condensée... Quant au raccordement entre Tom le horcrux et le horcrux de la cicatrice de Harry, je pense que je pourrais pouvoir étonner des mercis de certains encore !

_Cherry_ – Thanks for the support! I have to admit, it's a little difficult to get a completely believable dialogue going between the two of them since the dynamics between them aren't fully developed in the book – Tom's killed too early on for us to know everything about who he was as a character. Still, I keep trying to keep it realistic enough without going too far fluff or too far angst.

_tonksiscool_ – Thank you! I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the Redo! Yep, you've got Tom and Harry down pat – Tom is very much a Slytherin and Harry is still fairly young and trusting. Some people see that as OOC, but it's there in the books. As you could see, Tom's a bit defensive about Harry finding out that he's a horcrux. Whether he tells him or not, well… we'll just have to see ;-p I'm glad that you could follow the London references! I wondered if anyone would recognize "Mind the gap" and Pret a Manger – things like that. As similar as Britain and America are in some ways, they are vastly different in so many others, so I wanted to try to capture some of the culture in this. I'll probably slip up here and there with American phrases or ways of life, but I am trying to edit the language and actions to avoid that as much as possible.

_Lisa_ – Your review made my day! I'm glad that you like it – I'm especially glad that you're not giving into Tom yet either. I won't say what his intentions are, but personally, I wouldn't be inclined to trust him just yet. I'll try my best to keep them as in character as I can manage!

_petites sorcieres_ – Don't worry, I'm not at all offended, lol. Tom Riddle Lives was something that I wrote when I knew pretty much nothing about literature, plots, and characterization. I had to abandon it because it had no real direction or basis in reality. Hopefully, I can redeem myself with Sonnet 18 – I have every chapter planned out and I even wrote the epilogue already. I'm honored to have taken precedence to homework and will strive to be worthy of it!

_Rurrurr_ – Thanks for the review! I love your name by the way

_Miyanon_ – Haha, yes, Harry and Tom put the 'func' in Dis-func-tion. As for how their relationship turns out, I'm scattering obscure hints throughout the fic to allude to how it will end… they'll probably be overlooked, but I'll point them out in my last update. Thank you very much!

_Island Of the Ships_ – I wanted Tom to have an impact on what happens, so I'm glad you think it seems to fit well! I'm also using him to explain why the Dementors are after Harry and why Harry's boggart becomes a Dementor (sorta a spoiler for next chapter). Thank you!

_Katsheswims_ – Thank you! The next one should be up in a week or so!

_laica-27_ – Here it is! Thanks for reviewing!

_The Fuzy Llama_ – Thank you very much! I always have to throw lines like that in somewhere just to remind people that Tom is, essentially, a scary character. We can't go having warm and fuzzy thoughts about him just yet…I do try to put a lot of thought and effort into what I write and Golem, if you get the chance to read it, is a worthwhile play to read – lots of moral lessons and it deals with how people should be treated. It's somewhat ironic that Tom sees himself as a Golem figure... Good luck with exams – I know I'll need it!

For the rest of you... please be kind and **review**? All the cool kids are doing it...


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